Finishing Tea
by DarkPriestessofAssimbya
Summary: The Mad Hatter and the March Hare in Looking-Glass Land.


"We never should have come to Looking-Glass Land," the Hatter moaned, "at least the Queen of Hearts actually accused one of _doing _something."

"Oh, but it's not _their _fault they live backwards," the Hare muttered, glancing at the prison guards nervously, "and," he added, upon consideration, "they're probably right, you probably _did _do whatever it is you're being punished for. It's very likely, you know."

"Likely? _Likely? _Marchie, do you have no faith in me at _all? _And, really, when would I have the _time _to commit a crime? We're always so busy here, between the coming and going -"

"All you have to do is the going, the other is my job -"

"- and the fetching and carrying -"

"I handle the fetching, you could at _least _have the decency not to mind about the carrying -"

"- and all the while we haven't finished _tea _yet!" This last was puncuated by a mournful lifting of the teacup (the saucer had been forgotten) and a cucumber-sandwich, half finished at the time of his arrest and certainly not worth leaving behind, particularly in this place of utterly ridiculous people who only gave you ham-sandwiches and hay, both entirely revolting.

The Hatter had a point there, the Hare had to admit. It was indeed truly barbaric to arrest a man without letting him finish his tea. The Queen of Hearts had done such things, of course, but everyone _knew _that _she _was a barbarian. Normally, they talked of the White King as quite civilized.

"We'll have a nice tea after you're out of prison. The King probably won't give us much work then, he wouldn't dare."

The Hatter's voice was plaintive. "The cucumber-sandwiches will have gotten all soggy."

"We'll make new ones. And we'll have scones -"

"- and crumpets. With jam and butter. Better than their inhumane jam-every-other-day nonsense."

"Only we haven't been able to find Danish butter here."

"Oh, we can do without the Danish butter. It's you who's such a _fanatic _about it, Marchie."

This time, it was the Hare who sounded plaintive. "It _is _the best butter."

"There always was plenty of it in Wonderland." The Hare saw a familiar glint in the Hatter's eye, and knew that the Hatter was exploiting his weaknesses again.

"_You _just don't want to serve your prison term. You don't care about my butter in the slightest."

"Of _course _I care about your butter, but is it terrible that I think my serving a term in prison is more important at the moment? Oh, it'll be just horrible, Marchie, you know it will. They'll chain me up in one of those dirty cells, and ask interrogative questions about my hat, and when I get out, my hair will be a _complete _mess, and you wo'n't like that at _all, _now will you?" All of this sounded as though it was said on a single breath.

The guards were starting to look, the Hare noticed. He lowered his voice even more. "I wo'n't like _any _of that, but it's not as though we have any choice in the matter. After you're out, we'll ask for time off from the King, and we'll_ talk_ about Wonderland. Now, I need to go."

"Have to get back to your fetching, _Haigha?_" the Hatter asked, half smirking. (He pronounced it so that it rhymed with 'mare'.)

In response to the half smirking, the Hare half grinned. "Yes, and you have to get back to your jail term, _Hatta!"_ he called over his shoulder.

As he left, he could hear the Hatter muttering, "At least my pseudonym makes _sense._"

-

The Hatter looked worse than the Hare had expected. Yes, he had _known _that prison wouldn't be good for him, but often it seemed that the Hatter fed upon misfortune, while it was boredom that brought on his melancholy impulses.

Perhaps it was the oyster-shells - Tweedledee and Tweedledum had recited "The Walrus and the Carpenter" to the Hatter and the Hare one afternoon soon after their arrival in Looking-Glass Land, and the Hatter had sworn off oysters ever since - or perhaps it was the very heavy chain that the Hare had seen the Hatter pictured with in the newspaper. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that the Hatter's hair really was _very _messy. But, in any case, he was being very uncharacteristically quiet. It was worrying.

Or perhaps he just needed his tea. One never did know. Luckily, he had his tea now - and he seemed very intent upon it indeed - and so the problem would likely be solved soon, one way or another.

The Hare did suspect that the Hatter was merely being obstinate. He had hoped that the 'dear child' endearment might at the very least jolt him into irritation and out of sullenness, but even that didn't work. And he was eating the white bread and brown so assiduously, when the Hare knew for a fact that the only thing worth eating there was the plum cake.

Luckily, however, the Hatter was far less laconic when the Hare got a moment alone with him, though managing that was a bit difficult, with all the varied duties the White King (heartless fellow, to keep them so busy when the Hatter had just gotten out of prison) kept assigning them.

"Is that -" the Hatter began to ask, gesturing to the white-pinafored girl handing round the plum cake.

"Yes." The Hare said, before waiting for the Hatter to finish.

That brought a familiar grin to the Hatter's face, and he began to brush off remnants of hay from his hat. "Little Alice! Little Alice who threw down the whole court of the Queen of Hearts! My, she's grown. I almost didn't recognize her."

The Hare couldn't help feeling a little resentful that it was Alice who drew him out of his sullenness, and not the Hare, who _really _ought to have first right in that. "Humans do that," he said, noncommittally.

The Hatter frowned critically at the girl. "Her hair still wants cutting," he pronounced decisively.

There seemed to be little to say to that, and so the Hare said nothing, filling the moment with a bite of the plum cake which was indeed very good, as far as Looking-Glass food went.

"Do you think she recognized you?" The Hatter asked, suddenly worried.

The Hare shook his head. "I think the Anglo-Saxon attitudes threw her off the scent. It's _you_ who needs to worry. That hat is fairly easily recognized."

"Don't you _dare _blame my hat for anything. And she hasn't spent any time with me at all here, you're the one she's really _talked_ to."

"In Wonderland, she struck me as a little...dim," the Hare drawled, wishing it had the weight the Hatter always gave to his pronouncements.

"Nonsense, Marchie. Don't you remember the trial? She's a rude and impertinent child, but she's not _dim, _not by any means."

"How does she end up in all these places, anyway? Humans aren't supposed to be in Wonderland or Looking-Glass Land, particularly little girls like her."

"Oh, I have no idea. But there's _something _about her that's special. She'll be a Queen by the end of the day, mark my words."

"I do hope so," the Hare said, feeding a piece of his plum cake to the Hatter, "the banquet would at least give us time for a proper tea."

The Hatter was right, of course. And so they set up a table in the Seventh Square, far enough away from the Sixth Square so they weren't troubled much by the sound of the hapless horses and knights trying to put Humpty Dumpty together. The twigs and leaves that seemed to get everywhere were a nuisance, it was true, but the cucumber sandwiches were fresh, and though the butter wasn't Danish, it was good enough to satisfy the Hare, and things were almost like the old days, albeit without the sleepy murmurs of the Dormouse. The freedom of not being restricted by the Game or by the White King's orders seemed unbelievably wonderful to the Hare. He hadn't realized how much he had missed it.

The Hatter looked at the Hare over his teacup, eyes as shrewd as though he could read his thoughts. "We're leaving soon," he said, only half a question.

The Hare hesitated. "Not back to Wonderland," he said finally.

There was a small sigh of concession from the Hatter, which the Hare took as a major victory on his part. "Not back to Wonderland," he agreed.

The Hare smiled, and began to turn the topic of the conversation to the multitude of other universes they could explore.


End file.
